I've never heard of this before, but what a brillant idea. This website lets you send e-mails to your future self. You pick the date when your future self will receive the e-mail you write and the folks behind the site make sure it's sent. I just heard the creator on npr (of course) reminds me of Post Secret, without the juicy heartbreaking part. Well, some of these are sort of heartbreaking, like the guy who has Alzheimer's and is sending his future self e-mails in the hopes of remembering his life. Of course they've got a book coming out, due out this fall. Some of the e-mails on the site are public and you can read through them, here's a couple:
still working on the project?
get back to work.
(written Wed Jun 14, 2006, to be delivered Thu Jun 14, 2007)
Holy shit. I can't believe you haven't died yet. Good work. Well, it looks like you're well over your thirties now.
I hope to god you're married and have figured out your job. Maybe it will be with Nicole Petty. I also hope you remember who Nicole Petty is and also, that you are still very good friends with her.
That's basically it. Congratulations on not dying.
(written Wed May 31, 2006, to be delivered Fri Sep 14, 2018)
I love this. I loved it as soon as I saw it in the store when I was visiting my mom in Jersey, but what makes me love it even more is that when I picked it up and told my mom I was buying it just to hang in my studio she started laughing, when I asked her why she said, "I was here a week ago and I bought it to hang up in my studio." What can I say? I have an awesome mom and I'm glad I take after her. She's a big crafter and designer and everytime I go to Jersey and see her studio I laugh too- we keep our studios the same exact way, one big creative mess.
So good to be back. I lucked out with great weather on the east coast (it was 75 in New York yesterday!) and I landed to big blue skies and lovely SF breezes. There's a bit of the sky above Zeitgeist, I couldn't not take advantage of a free afternoon and such a pretty day!
What you see before you is my first real bagel since December, which was the last time I was back east. My amazing mom always has a big brown bag of fresh, chewy, perfectly made bagels waiting for me when I come back to Jersey. Maybe all that cream cheese and the blurry picture doesn't look that great to you, but it's heaven to me. I head into NYC tomorrow and I might just have to smuggle a bag of H&M bagels back to San Francisco. Than I can gather all of my ex-east coaster friends and have a little bagel love party. If I do move back east I swear it will be the pizza and bagels that bring me back, and of course my friends and family (that goes without saying, right?).
I'll be travelling the next few days so I may not be around here much. But one of my very favorite people just started a new blog, you can get there by clicking here.
You should also spend some time loooking through these fantastic finalists for the Softie Awards. Can you find the plush typewriter? I love it!
But I thought you would get a kick out of it anyway. Why not offer myself up for ridicule? I no longer have that shirt, I no longer listen to 'the dead', and yes- I am both amused and embarrassed by my hippie phase that happened in the 90's. If it makes me seem any cooler, before I started going to grateful dead shows and wearing bad clothes, I was a head banger (well, Ok it was hair metal I liked). I had a Ratt poster above my bed and a yellow leather fringe jacket and white leather boots, that are scarily back in style now. And no, I don't look anything like that anymore. I swear. That's a picture of my Dad and I in Colorado, we took a week long pack trip on horses with my city aunt Maureen. It was good times. And my Dad pretty much looks the same. Interesting Dad fact; he's a stock broker in Jersey who only owns cowboy boots. Swear to god. He has like 30 pairs.
Today, when I did another google search, what came up was your eBay account. At first I didn't think it was you, selling miniature dollhouse furniture, tiny things you couldn't even focus on with your camera. I was surprised, because you were always such a good photographer, and those pictures were all so blurry. And then I remembered your mother's dollhouse shop, and your house, full of tiny things I could never wrap my brain around. And I remembered your father, so much older than mine, a gym teacher or a coach. And I remember how he approved of me because I played sports and I was fit and athletic and I remember wanting him to like me. Your mother never did. But I remember being OK with that. She had her mini-things, but I had you and the wooden boxes you carved and the music you gave me. And I can never listen to the Cure without thinking of how I broke your heart. Because I think I did. And I will never forget you telling me about the girl after me, how she was always happy and how it was so easy with her. Really, I just wonder if you think of me from time to time, even though I know you married the nice girl with an easy smile. And every once and a while you creep up on me and I'm happy the internet is here now, so I can google you and know you still exist, selling shitty dollhouse furniture in Jersey somewhere.
I finally saw the Science of Sleep last night and I'm in love with it. I wanted to hit play and watch it again as soon as it ended. That Michel Gondry is some sort of genius. I was taken with the art of Lauri Faggioni, whose fantastic fabric creations completely made the movie for me (well that and a million other things). I'm actually a little obsessed with her right now. Especially after watching the little featurette of her on the dvd (which I'm so glad JJ insisted we watch) it's wonderful hearing her talk about all of her crazy creations and her friendship with Gondry. Faggioni also directs and is learning animation. She directed that Devendra video above, and I read she's working on some undersea animation right now which I can't wait to see more of. I'm totally inspired to work on crafts today, even though I should be working on a present for my dad's 60th. I wonder if he would like a plush typewriter with buttons for keys like the one in the Science of Sleep. Doubtful. But I so want one of those.
If I ever do write a book it will be about addiction. Not mine, my brother’s. I've got plenty of my own-- but none of them run lines as deep in my skin as my brother’s addiction. Crack's a bitch like that, always pulling you back just when you've got a clear head and a decent job, baby on the way, and a wife at home. Not like I would know. All I know is my mother's voice, cracking on the other end of the phone, not from emotion- we're of strong stock, and we don't break easy-- it's just a bad connection, the 3000 miles between us and the conversation we hate having. But we have it. Always. Because we've lived with my brother’s addiction for over 20 years now, and it's ours as much as it's his. My mother worries he's depressed, I do too. I worry it will be his job, his marriage, his general sadness that will lead him back to the crack pipe. But you never know. I never know. And I stopped feeling sorry for him and I stopped being angry and all I have now is my mother, her voice loud and wise, if not cracking just a bit. But I can still make out the sounds, the familiar words, dancing around the thing we don't want to call out but we do, because we are not delicate people, we name things for what they are. And when it sounds like my brother, her son, is dangling his feet too close to the edge we tell him to visit his therapist an extra day, we say, don't use-- don't go back there again. And then we hold our breaths and we talk to each other and we let out a deep sigh and after years of this we always have our war clothes near by, we are always ready for that call at midnight on a Tuesday, that message we never want to hear, ready to pull out the armor from under our beds, strap it on in the middle of the night and walk straight into battle again. And even if we wanted to walk away we never could, our hearts are too big. It's genetic. And this disease is my brothers but it's also ours, because he is us, and we've tried leaving him but we always boomerang back, it's our giant hearts, it's our family pride, and I couldn't imagine it any other way.
So a lot of people asked to see pictures of the boots I mentioned in my SFist post yesterday. These are the free boots that my dear friend Heidi gave me this weekend, for no good reason other than she's a nice person. When I got home that night (slightly buzzed, but obviously still able to operate my sewing machine) I was so excited at the prospect of having big black boots I got right to work on altering them. First I found an old skirt in my closet I never wear anymore, the skirt is black and has a slight stretch to it, which I thought would work out perfect in case the piece I sewed into the boot wasn't big enough. I literally took a pair of scissors and cut right down the side of the boots. This pair had cute little decorative stitching, so I just followed one of those lines and cut away. Then I cut what I thought looked like the right size to extend the boot to fit my big calves and ran it through my sewing machine, which was slightly tricky, but with some maneuvering worked just fine. I used the zig zag stitch which looks cute and also ensures a better hold. I actually used navy thread, not sure why, maybe my drunk eyes thought it was black? No matter, it looks pretty fine anyway. So here are the pictures. I thought they were a little dark so I hit equalize in Photoshop and they turned into what you now see.
I think they could use a little scuffing up to get rid of that extra shine, but I'm sure that will come. I have a bad habit of destroying shoes pretty quickly.
My tiny calved co-worker had on a pair of boots today that she had altered to fit her. This looks like it can also be done at home, it looks to me like you cut down the boot, take out some fabric and fold over. Here's a picture of her boots.
Either way, rest assured that even if you don't feel like doing this you can get boots stretched or stitched or altered to fit your too big or too tiny calves.
Thanks to Johanna for letting me take a picture of her boots (and her leg isn't that white, that's the flash). And thanks Nancy for the boot photo shoot!
Truth is, I've never really followed a pattern. I always end up altering or not following instructions. This is especially true of clothing patterns, I am totally intimated by the many pieces of brown tissue paper that make up patterns. They confuse me, and once they're all out on the floor it just feels like one big puzzle I'll never figure out. But old pattern covers, I love the looks of them. If I had any more room to collect stuff, old patterns would be at the top of my list.
Sorry I haven't been around here much, I've been outside, and if you're in SF I hope you spent most of the weekend out doors too. Dolores Park was packed yesterday, but somehow it wasn't annoying. I think everyone was just happy to get some summer days in. I know I was. It was painful to be in doors all day and even worse when I went outside to get lunch and then had to go back to the office. Why didn't I eat outside? No matter, thanks to daylight savings it was nice and bright out when I left work and a friend and I walked to the ferry building and than sat and drank beers looking out at the water. It was delightful. Sorry this is annoyingly cheery- blame it on the weather.
If there's anything I think more adorable than cupcakes, it's minatures. So you can imagine my sheer delight when I ran across this picture on Cupcakes Take the Cake. And to add even more icing to the sweetness, it's an Amy Sedaris recipe. So there's three things I love, cupcakes, mini people and Amy Sedaris. Really, it's so easy to please me. These cupcakes are from the Cupcake Queen and you can see more pictures of them on her flickr page or her blog, 52 Cupcakes.
Cupcake queen writes this: "Somehow those little guys got out of the box last night and I found them this morning adding another color to the Amy Sedaris "Tattletail's Vanilla Cupcakes" I'd made earlier in the day.
I love it!
How could I forget you knew me when I was a smoker? Of course you did. How could I forget reading you my bad poetry that you always understood? I remember now that time we closed the doors to what was then the ‘studio’, that small room by the kitchen I’ve been renting since Cara moved out a few years back. I think I didn’t have it on paper so I read from my computer screen, and I knew you would understand my tortured poems, the ones all about being with someone I never should have been with in the first place-- what is that saying about self torture, or choosing your own destiny, or some other stupid shit like that? Of course you knew me as a smoker, we threw open the windows to that spare bedroom and I lit up and took deep drags as I read out loud all my sorry words, and you listened instead of criticizing the work (which, you, as a much better writer could have easily done) you just sat there, nodding and taking pulls from your own cigarette, getting all smart like you do, and psychoanalyzing my writing much more than it ever deserved to be psychoanalyzed. And yes. We needed the cigarettes then, didn’t we? Back when we were in our twenties (fuck you’re still holding on—squeeze all you can out of the next five weeks) but now we’re older, and if not wiser than at least trying to be healthier, in between too many drinks and late nights, which don’t happen with nearly as much frequency as they used to, and thank god. Because we’ll leave the hard living days to the Scottish men snorting grams of coke and trying to sell us MDA we don’t want anyway. And it was great seeing you tonight. I never did tell you about that reoccurring dream I have (and I’m sort of horrified at what you think it might be) and you never did remember that story, did you? And if I don't see you before, I'll see you in New York my friend.
For lack of anything interesting to post I did a search on flickr for 'san francisco graffiti' which led to 'san francisco street art', the stuff I liked best is below. Oh, and if for some crazy reason you live in SF and you've never walked down Clarion Alley, I suggest you put it on your list of things to do this weekend.
Back when I was dating someone very into graffiti, I tried to figure out what I liked as he would point out who was who while we walked around the mission or show me magazines full of freight trains covered in the stuff. I always liked the girls the best, my favorite was always Swoon, and I remember how excited he was to show me her stuff when he started seeing it around the mission, a total treat since she lives in NY. I love her paper cut outs glued to walls and I love how they warp over time and then mostly disappear. That's one of her pieces up there, it wasn't in SF as far as I know, but damn isn't it beautiful?
Miss Van is another one of my favorite female graffiti artists, I love her ladies, this one is on Fillmore street near Upper Playground.
I love Sirron Norris and his creepy bubbly creatures. My favorite part of his mural at Jay's is that big purple house, so cartoon like but such a great representation of an SF house.
And here are some more favorites:
Besides it being a beautiful weekend weather-wise, I got a ton of projects done I've been meaning to work on for a while. One of those was finishing off the curtains in my living room. I had bought blue curtains at Target a month or so ago (I know, I should have just made them at home) but when I brought them home they were too short for my long narrow windows. I finally got to the fabric store this weekend, and lucky for me the Mission Fabric Outlet was having a huge sale (although I think they always are). So for $3 a yard (and I only needed two yards) I finished off my curtains and made a pillow to match! And the best thing of all, besides giving my living room a much needed homey feel, is that they match that gold 70's chair Jesse left behind when he moved to New York. Come to think of it, I was with Rebecca when I bought the fabric on Saturday (and it was soo good finally getting some of her time). Rebecca, Jesse and I all lived together at one point not long ago, and as far as people and roommates go the three of us were a perfect combination. Modest Jesse would walk around in his boxers to the shock of Rebecca and I, and when we weren't all busy with our separate lives we would occasionally sit in the living room or kitchen together drinking beer, listening to Rebecca quiz us on human anatomy and reading up on the differences between a causal drinker and an alcoholic. Those were good days.
So here are some pictures of the curtains, and Jack enjoying them. I know the print is a little intense, but it's a plain room so it can take the color jolt and when they're pulled back it's a more mellow.
Finished and hung:
A friend for Jesse's gold chair:
Jack enjoying the new living room:
Because I think everyone I know should get the awesome pleasure that comes with watching the Gallus Brothers, I'm posting a clip from youtube up above. Lucas Hicks is an amazingly talented person and I miss him not being in the Bay Area. But he rolls into town once and again and I had the pleasure of seeing him and Devin Champlin who are now the Gallus Brothers perform last night at Amnesia. The Gallus Brothers are one of my very favorite incarnations of Lucas's talent. My god are they delightful to watch. These boys are up in Bellingham now, but that doesn't mean you can't support them by buying their CD and the am-az-ing flip book Lucas was selling last night. Check them out here.